


Splitting

by orphan_account



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Gen, Sadstuck, basically my headcanon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-02
Updated: 2017-08-02
Packaged: 2018-12-10 09:27:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,535
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11688780
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Fresh after breaking up with Karkat, Gamzee discovers what happened between Kurloz and Mituna in their game session.It's not a story with a happy ending.





	Splitting

It wasn't often that the contents of a dream bubble left Gamzee reeling.

Nobody could see him like this. Fucking nobody. He was pale behind his make-up, feeling sick to his stomach and panicked. He sunk down against one of the dark indigo Church walls – still in goddamn Kurloz's memories – and clenched and unclenched his fists. What was it his bro had taught him? Deep breaths, in and out? Followed by a hug, some paps and platonic activities together?

Well, that bro wasn't his no more. He had slipped out of a vent on the Meteor, found Karkat in private and dumped him. His voice was harsh and his tone implied that it was Karkat's fault for not taking better care of him as a moirail over these past few months. He hadn't even _meant_ to say it like that, he had it all planned out in his head to let Karkat down gently – but the Other Guy had taken the wheel just as he opened his mouth to suggest that they moved on from each other.

Gamzee's expected reaction was that Karkat would fly into a rage at him and he would have to awkwardly walk away – or worse, Other Guy would jump on Karkat in his rage as a _MOTHERFUCKING LOWBLOOD who needed to be put in his proper fucking place_ and do something terrible.

When the reaction had just been a stunned silence, he had stayed long enough for the message to sink in, then fled before he could do anything stupid.

He'd ended up through the dream bubbles by wandering on autopilot, hands shaking all the way. Things had somehow gone from bad to worse these recent days. Everyone on the Meteor was either depressed or sniping at each other.

They had travelled around the dream bubbles, meeting alternate versions of trolls who were nearly exactly the same, but just one key factor about them changed. Blood colours were swapped. Known atheists were religious preachers. Sigils were the wrong colour, or flipped around in some stupid way. Different haircuts, different body types, different Lusii, the list went on.

It _was_ weird, though, when they met their alternative selves from another universe. The pre-scratch selves, apparently. Never their ancestors, always just some goddamn teenage troll with emotional problems and personality flaws that held up a black mirror to your own.

Kurloz wasn't so bad upon their first meeting. Gamzee hadn't understood a fucking word he was signing, so they had quickly switched to telepathy. He imagined that he _would_ have turned out like Kurloz in his older years, quiet and manipulative, but not quite _that_ devoted to the faith. The dude's weirdly tall and bony physique would have definitely gotten him culled on Alternia, though. He led good sermons, at the very least. Although it was damn near heretical on Alternia, the purplebloods' faith on Beforus was a lot more welcoming to lowbloods. He'd introduced his 'kittybitch' to the cause, playing on her love of stories, her fears... and the gods had punished him thusly, in Gamzee's eyes, by making him deafen her. Other Guy had screamed this while howling in ecstatic laughter and bringing up all his... more recent memories of Nepeta.

Gamzee had shrugged his shoulders and ordered him to find the codpiece, which he had duly returned. He wasn't expecting to ever see the weird mime again, so it was something of a shock when the walls and ceilings shifted around him in his wanderings, to find what was presumably Kurloz's room of worship – with three figures already standing there, and Gamzee watching on from above like a ghost.

Thankfully, it was prior to Kurloz's weird  - no, _stupid_ \- vow of silence.

"Hail.”

"Hail,” the two female voices returned – one clad in robes. (Gamzee blinked, before realising their version of the Demoness was present - speaking clearly in her adopted language. Odd.)

“The prophecy has been spoken,” Kurloz stated, with a sweep of his arm. “It must be halted before it can come to pass, and scupper our Lord's plans.”

“Purr-ophecy, my love?” Meulin asked, notebook and pen in hand.

“My wickedest kitty-cat,” Kurloz said, briefly coming out of character, “you must know that these prophecies aren't to be written down on paper. It would be the highest of motherfucking insults, to capture this on some heretical bit of paper in our limited language.”

The girl nodded, putting the notebook away in her sylladex.

“Good,” he said, eyes drawn over to the Demoness. “And this prophecy is accurate?” His voice was clear and cold, lacking the slight drawl Gamzee had – this was the clear-cut diction of the Church, divined especially so that sermons could be heard with no room for misinterpretation.

"The Vast Honk is oncoming,” she said, her voice slightly accented. “I have been through all possible timelines, and it is an inevitability. But there remains one issue. The Bard.”

Kurloz's eyes rolled. “He has attained god tier?”

Damara shook her head, as if that was a ridiculous notion. “It has been said that Hope players pose the greatest danger to our Lord. His moirail is to become the Heir of Doom.”

They're MOIRAILS!?” There came an excited shriek from Meulin. Damara tutted. “Sorry.”

“It is good to know that you are focused on the important aspects of this moot, my Mage.” Kurloz said with some humour. He softly placed his hand within hers, as if to allay any fears she may had from her outburst, stroking his fingers down her wrist the way she liked when agitated. “They are not moirails. Too motherfucking antagonistic towards each other for that.”

“You're right, darling.” She grinned.

The Demoness cleared her throat and continued. “The Heir of Doom is already gifted with vision twofold. He often prophesies the worst outcome to any given event, which works in our favour – there will be those who doubt him, insistent that he is simply being melodramatic, crying about the feral barkbeast threatening the communal lawnring. But, he is to become the harbinger of calamity, yet none will believe him, with the sole exception of the Bard and a small following he may collect once the prophecy is said.”

“The Bard of Hope is Ampurra,” Meulin said, with another giggle. “Nobody likes him, how could he gain a following?”

"That is what we are hoping,” Damara said, hands tetchy. “However, if it remains a possibility in one timeline, it can remain a possibility in many others.”

“The Witch speaks truth,” Kurloz nodded. “S'why we got to come up with a holy, righteous motherfucking plan of action. It will be understood and carried out by you both, and you will be implicated, should it go awry. You came into this out of your own free will, but you may never leave this bond which we are speaking out loud today, may the Angel of Double Death bless it and ensure it is carried out. Hail.”

“Hail,” the Mage and the Witch said in unison.

“And you promise that you will join me in this union?”

“I do.”

“I do.” Meulin squeezed Kurloz's hand, so keen to have positive attention from him. It was returned with a gentle stroke across her face, and allowing her to lean against him, her head on his shoulder.

“Then so it shall be carried out, forevermore.”

“Hail.” They both nodded, one hand over the esoteric tablets that had been found at the same time Damara had excavated the game from deep within Beforan soil.

“There will be no need to spill blood,” Kurloz stated. “It is not needed for a ritual of this nature.”

“So we kill Ampurra? He's _already_ been sorta-killed several times in the game due to incompawtence,” Meulin suggested. “Or Meow-tuna? Gosh, that's not going to go down well with Latula...”

There was a pause for a few moments. Damara shifted to one side, taking out a joint and lighting it, offering some to the both of them. Kurloz took a thoughtful drag, before passing it to Meulin. Gamzee's nose crinkled at the strong smell of the substance, mingling with the incense Kurloz was already burning to create a heady aroma that should have made it too stuffy to even breathe – but he and his acolytes seemed to have no complaint.

 _"_ Our Lord's wrath must be struck down on Ampora, sooner rather than later,” Kurloz said.

“Ampora has _already_ been visited by the Lord.” Damara replied, her eyes narrowing.

Kurloz snorted.

“It has happened,” she affirmed. “He has lost faith in his abilities.”

“The little parlour tricks?” Kurloz asked, narrowing his eyes.

“The 'magic' abilities he has are far more than just cards and sleight of hand,” Damara looked grave. “He was hatched with the potential to help bring down our Lord. From what I have divined, it was predestined that he would enter the game, as it was with most of us.”

Gamzee narrowed his eyes. Hope players were nothing to mess with, certainly, but an _Ampora_ , for fuck's sake? Was this the universe's idea of a grand joke?

“It is always predestined that people enter the game, is it not?” Meulin asked, nuzzling Kurloz. “I mean, you knew us already, so... of claws _we_ were going to join your team, that much was obvious.”

She grunted, not wishing to go into fine detail about how the game picked its players. Kurloz gestured for her to continue. “Our Lord carries out his divine wrath. Who is Ampora to stand against him as the Chosen One?”

“Either furry brave or furry foolish,” Meulin giggled.

“Ain't that the fuckin' truth.”

Damara continued. “The Heir of Doom is set to deliver a prophecy. The Bard does not know this. The prophecy will be delivered to him in whisperings from his denizen – Janus, he of the two faces.” (Kurloz made an amused smirk at this. Captor _did_ have a thing for the number two, after all.) “It is unclear as to whether or not he will attain god tier – but the prophecy cannot be spoken to his ally. It is one that can break through even the most logical thinker's mind, and _will_ be believed by Ampora, as antagonistic as their friendship may seem. It is pre-ordained – but at present, I cannot see any further in the timelines than Ampora believing in the prophecy and trying to gather an army to defeat the Lord. It is a possibility – in the 1% range - that another of our friends would possibly believe Captor, but the timeline gets muddied if too many parties are brought into question, I am afraid.”

“Then one of them – either Captor or Ampora – needs to be taken out of the equation,” Kurloz said calmly, irritated by this obstacle in their path. “I think I would prefer to keep Ampora on the motherfuckin' chess board, to make sure we always know where he is.”

Gamzee tried to get the Other Guy to shut the fuck up in his head – he was currently howling with glee at Kurloz's machinations. The work of a _true_ Highblood, not Gamzee's idiotic thinkpan that was all graceless violence with no thought behind it. _No_ , Gamzee assured himself. He was the chosen one. The Messiahs had chosen him, not this wannabe cult leader.

The Witch nodded after a ruminant pause. “Then that leaves Mituna. Maybe it could be possible to stop him from ever speaking the prophecy.”

“Like ripping out his tongue?” Meulin said.

For some unknown reason, Kurloz shivered.

“No, no, my Mage.” The Bard continued, in a gentle tone of voice. “Those who cannot speak may find other ways in which to communicate. What if he couldn't talk, only to take a leaf out of your book and scribe down these wicked heresies for Ampora to read and believe?”

Damara stroked her chin, thoughtful. “He is a powerful psionic, is he not?”

“There are more powerful ones out there,” Kurloz said. The room they were in itself was thick with chucklevoodoos, to avoid any interlopers, for instance. “But he does indeed have his gifts.”

Meulin shrugged. “So what if you make it so he can't remember the prophecy?”

“And how do you propose we do that?” Damara snapped, needling. “We have a Knight of Mind and a Sylph of Light in our game. Memory loss can easily be altered or healed.”

“You're suggesting that we make sure he is sent to the Angel of Double Death?” Meulin gasped. “But he's a nice guy, that's not fair!”

"Some sacrifices are necessary,” Kurloz said, with a puff of the joint. “If we are concerned about memories which may be recovered from within an amnesiac mind, perhaps if might behoove us to make the mind itself impossible to navigate for any prospective meddler – if we are to keep the Heir alive.”

“Would you be willing to do that, Makara?” Damara asked, taking back the joint, which was nearly burning to its cinders after Kurloz's long, thoughtful drags. “I understand you may be able to manipulate the mind in certain ways, as a highblood.”

He chuckled. “You wish for me to manipulate Captor's mind so that he will never remember the prophecy.”

“Nor deliver it coherently, if it comes to that.” Damara replied. “No healer will be able to repair the damage, and no psychic will ever be able to draw it out of his mind. The prophecy which would have affirmed Ampora's zeal to defeat the Lord he believes he was born to take down... shall never be delivered. So mote that be.”

Gamzee wasn't quite sure where this was going to lead. So, Captor and Ampora were actually friends – antagonistic friends, but friends all the same – in this version of the game. Captor also had a matesprite, whoever this Latula girl was, and was gifted with prophecy. Weren't Beforans supposed to be the _nice_ trolls? Well, he himself had learned that lesson the hard way, thanks to a meddlesome spider bitch and a fishy friend of hers who were inserting themselves into their narrative at the moment, but... He sighed and continued listening to the plan.

“Aren't mew already friends of a sort with Mituna?” Meulin asked, lying her head on Kurloz's lap now, getting sleepy and barely coherent from her high. “I could see you guys working out as moirails...”

Damara chuckled at the brilliance of that idea. Kurloz's grin grew wider as well, praising Meulin with an affectionate kiss to the horn. And then her lips. With tongue. Damara looked away politely. “If the Prince and the Heir become moirails, it will allay suspicion and allow us to buy some time prior to the call to action. The timelines do not speak to me of exactly _when_ Janus will deliver this prophecy, but it would be sooner rather than later.”

Kurloz parted from Meulin, stroking down her side. “I will do whatever it takes to keep that prophecy from being delivered. So will it be.”

Damara rolled her eyes as Meulin continued giggling, ecstatic from the catnip and the kiss from her matesprite.

The Other Guy was pleased to hear this bit of exposition – and his incessant cackling in Gamzee's mind was enough for him to try to flee towards another memory. Which he did.


End file.
